“An omen of victory,” exclaimed Dick, when he saw the captured cannon.
“Careful, Dick! Careful!” said Warner. “Remember that you're not strong on omens. You're always seeing sure signs of success just before we go into a big battle.”
“If Dick sees visions, and they're visions of the right kind, then he's right,” said Pennington. “I'd a good deal rather go into battle with Dick by my side singing a song of victory, than croaking of defeat.”
“That's good as a general proposition,” said Warner, “but I was merely cautioning him not to be too enthusiastic. What kind of a country, Dick, is this into which we are going?”
“Hilly, lots of forests, particularly of cedar, and brooks, creeks and rivers. Murfreesborough itself is right on Lytle's Creek. Bragg will meet us at the line of Stone River.”
“Maybe they'll retreat and go eastward to Chattanooga,” said Pennington.
“I think we'd better dismiss that 'maybe,'” said Dick. “You haven't heard of the rebels running away from battles, have you?”
“What I've generally seen, in the beginning at least,” said Warner, “is the rebels running toward us, jumping out of the woods and yelling like Indians. I have seldom found it a pleasant sight. I'm glad, too, Dick, that Stonewall Jackson isn't here. Do you see that big cedar forest over there on the hillside? Suppose he should come rushing out of it with twenty or twenty-five thousand men.”
“Stop,” said Pennington. “You give me the shivers, talking about Stonewall Jackson swooping down on us with an army corps, when happily he's four or five hundred miles away. I'm seeing enough unfriendly faces as it is. Look how the people in this village are glaring at us. Fellows, I've decided after due consideration that they don't love us here in Tennessee. If you were to ask me I'd say that blue was not their favorite color.”
“At any rate we don't stay long. Good-bye, friends, good-bye,” said Warner, waving his hand toward two or three men who stood in the door of an old blacksmith shop.